


beneath the arching boughs

by treescape



Series: the wolf king [1]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Sorcerer Obi-Wan, Witcher AU, Witcher Qui-Gon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-23
Updated: 2020-08-23
Packaged: 2021-03-06 21:49:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,458
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26066029
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/treescape/pseuds/treescape
Summary: If there was truly a werewolf in Lildwin Forest, and Qui-Gon suspected there was, he could bargain with it.Or, the Witcher AU in which Qui-Gon refuses to actually kill monsters.
Relationships: Qui-Gon Jinn/Obi-Wan Kenobi
Series: the wolf king [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1892224
Comments: 12
Kudos: 84





	beneath the arching boughs

**Author's Note:**

> This is going to be a series of standalone, self-contained stories that build a bigger world, so if you're worried about Works in Progress, this story is done--but there will be further adventures in the future!
> 
> Many thanks to [MidnightDelirium](https://midnightdelirium.tumblr.com/) for taking a look at this for me!

“No.”

“What do you mean, no?” The voice, sharp and incredulous, indicated clearly that it was unaccustomed to being refused. Qui-Gon noted with distinct interest that while it drew the eyes of two or three mercenaries, the rest of the crowd kept their attention carefully diverted.

“I believe I was quite clear.” Qui-Gon carefully surveyed the Mayor of Eisley over the rim of his tankard. His words were pleasant but firm, pitched only to be heard over the din of the grubby common room. “Your proposed contract stipulates in no uncertain terms that the wolf is to be killed.”

“But you’re a Witcher! It’s your _job_ to kill monsters.”

“If I am, as you say, a Witcher,” Qui-Gon said reasonably, setting the tankard down with a click of pewter on wood, “then I should think that I am best qualified to determine what my job does and does not entail.” He sat back comfortably in his chair, crossing his hands over his leather vest to watch the short, richly dressed man across the table.

The Mayor looked rather conspicuously from the sword at Qui-Gon’s side to the length of the white braid that hung, a familiar weight, down the upper reach of his spine. The silence stretched interminably—for the Mayor, at least, if the look on his face was anything to go by. Qui-Gon was perfectly comfortable without words.

“Aren’t you going to even _try_ to negotiate?”

“My good Mayor,” Qui-Gon said simply. “If you wanted to negotiate, all you had to do was say so.” He sat forward again to run the tip of his finger around the dull edge of the tankard before lifting it for another swallow. He looked at the other man expectantly. “I suggest you try again.”

The Mayor sputtered a little, thrown off by the unexpected lack of a counteroffer; likely he expected Qui-Gon to be desperate for work. It was true enough that many Witchers claimed work was too scarce of late, but then Qui-Gon wasn’t exactly a typical Witcher in the first place. It might be the duty of his kind to protect humanity, but that didn’t mean he was going to destroy other living creatures to do it.

Not for any fee.

If there was truly a werewolf in Lildwin Forest, and Qui-Gon suspected there was, he could bargain with it. If he played his cards right, he could even avoid bloodshed—or _some_ bloodshed, at least. The last time he’d encountered a werewolf, some two years ago, things had gone about as well as they possibly could. Qui-Gon had managed to spare both the wolf and the nearby town, but he had shed plenty of his _own_ blood in the process.

There were questions Qui-Gon needed answered first, of course, but he somehow suspected that the Mayor wouldn’t be of much help, and not just because he was so irascible. Qui-Gon eyed the man up and down, and waited to see what he would say.

“I’ve already hired other hunters,” the Mayor said, sulky. “I’m sure they can take care of it.”

So he was going to be difficult, then. No matter; Qui-Gon had plenty of experience with rude potential employers. “If you truly believe that, why bother approaching me?”

The Mayor scowled and ignored him. “Yrteas claims he hit the beast before it got away. He’ll get it, next time.”

Qui-Gon felt a flash of concern, but kept the lines of his face relaxed. “That will just make it more enraged.”

“Though,” the Mayor frowned, his brow furrowing and his voice dipping low as if he’d just remembered, “Yrteas did say it was some miniature draigon appearing out of nowhere that let the wolf get away.”

Qui-Gon closed his eyes briefly for a moment and muttered to himself under his breath. “ _Kriff._ ”

Well, that changed a lot of things and yet nothing at all.

Obi-Wan.

\---

The fathomless oaks of Lildwin crowded the pathway, intent on reclamation. The arching boughs formed a canopy above, verdant and warm. Qui-Gon knew that some found it ominous to be so surrounded by the ancient weight of living years, but he had always drawn strength and contentment from the adamance of such growth.

Qui-Gon led his tall bay mare carefully and attentively through the forest, open to every brush of wind and whisper of life. He had insisted that the Mayor immediately call off his hunters, and the Mayor had cowered and agreed under the sudden force of his intensity, but Qui-Gon was all too aware that he and Saber were not alone in these woods.

That was, in fact, why he was here.

He saw the draigon before he saw Obi-Wan, but then, he suspected he was meant to; Qui-Gon’s senses were unparalleled, enhanced by magics and training, but Obi-Wan was in many ways on a separate plane entirely. The draigon flew on wings of air and sunlight as it fluttered from branch to branch above Qui-Gon’s head. No bigger than his two palms together, it darted with a grace that resembled its maker.

“If it isn’t the famous Wolf King himself.” The voice was meticulous and controlled, but so very warm, and Qui-Gon’s body oriented itself inexorably in its direction. Obi-Wan sat comfortably in the crook of a massive oak some few feet ahead; he must have only just made himself visible. Qui-Gon’s eyes followed every movement of his lips, every rustle of his hair in the wind.

Qui-Gon felt as one who had been starving for months.

“You know you’re the only one who actually calls me that.” A father looking after his pack of wild monsters, Obi-Wan had once called him. That had been nearly a decade ago in the aftermath of Drossa, where Qui-Gon had relocated a small pack of wolves to protect both the beasts and the farmlands they’d been terrorizing.

There were much worse things Qui-Gon had been called over the years. Witchers led long lives, and Qui-Gon had a long memory, although he generally disinclined to hold grudges.

“Ah, well.” Obi-Wan leapt gracefully to the ground, feet striking the earth with a soft but steady sound. When he straightened, he was impeccable from the sweep of his auburn hair and beard to the pale lines of his tunic and leggings. Qui-Gon had no idea how Obi-Wan managed to keep those last so clean when his own black leather vest and trousers were enough work, but then, he supposed Sorcerers had their ways. “If only I’d been a bard, I could have spread your name far and wide, as you deserve.” He smiled as he said it; he knew, imp that he was, that Qui-Gon rather felt the name Qui-Gon of Jinn was spread far enough and wide as it was.

“You have a lovely singing voice,” Qui-Gon said agreeably, “but I have always liked you just as you are.” Three decades since he and Obi-Wan had first met, but it felt like the barest flash of an instant. Obi-Wan looked and sounded the same as he always did—heart achingly beautiful and full of life.

Obi-Wan took a single step closer, eyes of azure lingering on Qui-Gon’s braid as he moved. Qui-Gon more typically wore it loose, or else pulled hastily back, but in recent months he had gravitated towards the neater style whenever he had been thinking on Obi-Wan overly long. The precision of weaving that plait each morning couldn’t help but remind him of his lover.

Truth be told, he couldn’t think of a time in the past half year he hadn’t worn it. It had been far too long since he had seen Obi-Wan, the both of them so often pulled in competing directions by their callings.

The flicker of the draigon’s wings caught Qui-Gon’s attention, and he followed its exquisite arc through the air as it settled itself just above Obi-Wan’s shoulder. Obi-Wan noticed the direction of his gaze and smiled. “I thought she might get your attention.”

“You could have just sent a message.”

“I did.” Obi-Wan gave a small shrug, and the draigon glided to hover above his outstretched palm. He let it drift there for a moment before letting it disperse on the wind. “I heard you were in Eisley. I knew if the hunters saw, word would get to you quickly.”

“I meant a more...traditional message,” Qui-Gon said with a small huff of a laugh.

“I thought you didn’t like traditional.” 

Qui-Gon gave him a pointed look and felt a flutter of fond amusement and warmth at the faint blush that touched Obi-Wan’s cheekbones. For all the flare that his magic could take, Obi-Wan was nothing if not traditional.

“This way,” Obi-Wan said with a shake of his head, his voice a little distracted, and Qui-Gon fell into step easily beside him. Qui-Gon wanted nothing more than to reach out and stop him, to fold Obi-Wan into his arms for even a brief moment, but there would be time enough for that once other matters were taken care of.

Obi-Wan didn’t have to lead him far; after less than a mile, the Sorcerer slowed to a stop, kneeling to pull back the brush and reveal a small den. Qui-Gon could count four werewolf pups curled in a sleeping heap, their fur still more black fluff than anything.

“The mother?” Qui-Gon asked.

“No,” Obi-Wan said, and it was enough for Qui-Gon to understand.

This Yrteas had been a better shot than Qui-Gon had thought or hoped he would turn out to be. 

The pups were young, too young to survive on their own; at such an early age, Qui-Gon wondered if they’d even learned to shift, yet. They would need care and teaching that he could not give them.

“I know someone who will take them, for a time at least. In Yotac, barely three days ride from here.”

“You mean you know a werewolf.” Obi-Wan’s voice wasn’t even surprised, though there was a slight hint of fond resignation to it.

Qui-Gon nodded. “Yes.” Agna might not exactly like him, but he thought she respected him. And if not, then.... “She owes me a life debt.” He suspected she might take them anyways, at the very least until they could survive on their own, but he would call in the favour she claimed to owe him from that matter in Bridr if he had to.

He tilted his head back, although he could not truly see the sky; he knew it would be some hours before the sun would begin to sink below the horizon. “It will be best to travel under cover of darkness.”

Obi-Wan made an affirmative sound in response, and Qui-Gon tried, very hard, not to look at him. For the most part, he succeeded.

“Shall I travel alone?”

“No,” Obi-Wan said, and Qui-Gon could hear a hint of famine in his voice that had nothing to do with typical hunger. “Not for a while, I think. Eventually I must go to Temeria, but not for some weeks yet.”

The rush of pleasure at Obi-Wan’s words was like the slow flood of light that came at dawn. “I will be glad of the company.”

Obi-Wan smiled, and then looked from the wolf pups to Qui-Gon. “So,” he said lightly. “What’s it to be? You’re always telling me that Witchers don’t work for free.” He was making fun of Qui-Gon, at least a little—Qui-Gon, who was a sentimental fool who couldn’t turn down a soul in need no matter what the fee he earned. It meant he often lived rougher than even a Witcher could usually hope to, but it mattered little in the greater scheme of things.

But Qui-Gon could wait no longer to kiss him, and if Obi-Wan wished to tease, then Qui-Gon could play along. He surveyed Obi-Wan calmly and took a step closer, then a second and a third. Obi-Wan matched his every move, backing up step by step, but it wasn’t a retreat; they both knew Obi-Wan could lead Qui-Gon anywhere he wished to, or send him anywhere he desired.

When Obi-Wan’s back finally hit the towering oak directly behind him, Qui-Gon came to a stop against the strong lines of his body. He pressed one hand against the wood of the tree, palm flat against the roughness of bark; with his other hand, Qui-Gon gently cradled Obi-Wan’s face, the caress of his beard so different in texture to the oak.

The kiss Qui-Gon took was slow but unrelenting, the kind of kiss that was meant both to leave one breathless and to somehow fill long months spent apart. It wasn’t always so when they met, whether their convergence was unexpected or by design; sometimes they came together in an urgent clash of longing and need. But here, beneath the arching boughs of Lildwin, there seemed time enough for decadence.

“There,” Qui-Gon said gently, a smile on his lips as he pulled back just far enough to rest his forehead against Obi-Wan’s. “Your debt is fulfilled. Anything more, you know I would not take as payment even in jest.”

Obi-Wan laughed, and the pitch was just this side of unsteady. “I would tell you to take me back to whatever abominable room you’ve likely rented, but….” He glanced aside at the wolf pups, who certainly couldn’t be left alone; Qui-Gon wouldn’t trust the Mayor as far as the next tree.

“I’ll have you know it’s a very respectable inn,” Qui-Gon said seriously as Obi-Wan let his voice trail off. He rifled through his own memories, trying to recall what the room even looked like. It was clean, at the very least; it had a bed, which was all that had really mattered when he took it.

“Yes, I am quite sure,” Obi-Wan said skeptically. “I think I would much rather take my chances out here.”

Qui-Gon went to move away—there were preparations to make before they could begin their journey at dark—but then he stopped and surveyed Obi-Wan for a moment more.

“If you _were_ to send a more traditional message,” Qui-Gon said, “you know I would come to you.” It wasn’t a question, precisely, but it was something he needed to make sure that Obi-Wan knew. He wasn’t here for Obi-Wan’s magic or abilities, hadn’t spent decades longing for illusion and wizardry. He was here simply for Obi-Wan.

Qui-Gon would go to him no matter how or when Obi-Wan called him.

“If I needed you,” Obi-Wan murmured, “what is to say that I would have time to send a traditional message? Or that I would not simply find you myself?”

“Obi-Wan.”

Obi-Wan gently touched his face, and then the tautness of his hair as it swept back into its braid. “Yes, Qui-Gon. I know.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! I'm [treescape](https://treescape.tumblr.com/) on tumblr; if there are any particular adventures you're interested in seeing in this series, feel free to let me know!


End file.
